


whatever it takes

by honeypottrap



Series: i don't wanna give it up [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Magic Made Them Do It, Mildly Dubious Consent, Minor Soul Bonds, because the sex makes their hockey better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-23 18:09:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13793268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeypottrap/pseuds/honeypottrap
Summary: An explanation of the immediate success of the MarKadMar line.





	whatever it takes

**Author's Note:**

> ***end warnings for description of the mildly dubious consent***
> 
> there IS explicit consent given but the situation is kinda fucked (read: the sex makes their hockey better).

It’s an accident, really, the first time it happens. Mitch is moved to his line with the expectation to create a minor bond, if they work well enough together -- and they do, immediately connecting on the ice.

The bond snaps into place almost directly after their first game together, almost shockingly easy. Naz is pretty sure Leo’s jealous, given that _their_ hockey bond took months to develop and was volatile even at the best of times, but Naz has pretty much given up being surprised at anything their rookies manage to do.

What _is_ a surprise, though, is the way Mitch pushes him against a wall in the ACC after a successful game together, and even more so the way he _likes_ it, rubbing off on his thigh and coming in his pants within minutes like a fucking teenager -- the real teenager in question busy mouthing at his neck, shamelessly jerking himself in his gameday pants.

“ _Jesus_ ,” Naz bites out, still shaking from his orgasm, and Mitch cries out and comes with a choked off “ _Naz--_ ”, shuddering into Naz’s neck.

They stand there, breathing heavily in the quiet hallway, and Naz regains his composure soon enough, pushing Mitch off of him.

“Dude, what the fuck?” Naz spits, half at himself and half at Mitch, yet entirely incredulous. Mitch just stares back, pupils blown, before shaking his head as if to clear it.

“S-sorry, I don’t--” Mitch stutters. He’s flushed, still breathing hard, and he starts to back away. He looks just as unsure as Naz feels about what just happened, looks like he might bolt at any second, like he’s _afraid_ of what Naz is going to do, and that won’t fly.

“Wait, don’t--” Naz reaches out a hand to grab him, and the effect when they touch is instantaneous. Mitch sags forward as Naz pulls him closer, instinctually seeking more contact. The bond is flaring up -- everywhere they touch is impossibly hot, almost buzzing, and Mitch jabs his chin into Naz’s collarbone. It’s sharp, boney, and Naz feels irritated for about half a second before another wave of arousal hits him at the feel of warm breath on his throat.

It’s easy to blame the first time on being high off the win -- these things happen with teammates, sometimes, but what’s not normal is the way Naz now finds himself scrambling for another round, desperate even after already coming once. He takes a shallow breath through his nose, but it doesn’t help, doesn’t go away.

“Mitch.” Naz says, and Mitch makes a high noise and pushes back to look at him.

“It feels like. You too?” Mitch has to take a gulp of air, can’t finish the thought and Naz nods immediately. “Can we--”

“ _Yeah_.”

The second time doesn’t take much longer than the first, Mitch sticking his hand into the mess in Naz’s boxers, but it’s even _better_ , and Naz is left blinking away spots from his vision, wondering how it could be so _good_.

There’s a sudden noise from down the hall, and they break apart, but the separation makes Naz’s body _ache,_ catching up to the exhaustion from the game. He reaches out, as some sort of a test, brushes Mitch’s throat with his fingers, and they both make a noise at the same time.

“What the _fuck_.” Mitch whispers, and Naz silently agrees.

“You’re coming home with me.” He states, not a question, and Mitch agrees, following him out to his car.

\--

They manage to separate the morning after, agreeing not to have sex again, but that’s when the cravings start. There’s no better word for it. They’re avoiding each other off the ice, but Naz can’t stop himself from thinking about it, imagining ways to slip in a quickie while avoiding getting caught, and with the way he catches Mitch eyeing him up in the showers, there’s no way he’s not thinking it, too.

Masturbating does practically nothing for his increased libido. It’s hardly satisfying, anymore, like there’s an itch he just can’t scratch, and based on the subject of his dreams, he’s pretty sure he knows what his subconscious wants from him.

Well, his subconscious can suck it. He’s not letting it happen again, not going to give in to whatever urge he has to fuck his twenty-year-old teammate -- though his willpower wavers and eventually gives in as his desperation grows. They’re playing well enough without actually talking off the ice, anyways, but Naz can tell that Babs is frustrated, after seeing a glimpse of their possible chemistry that just isn’t happening anymore (the bond is… strained, to say the least. It stings like a bitch).

Avoidance can only get him so far, though. Naz accidentally finds him in the empty equipment room one night before a game, and his thoughts immediately cloud, unable to think clearly beyond the hopes of finally getting some sort of release.

“Shit.” Mitch says, meeting his gaze.

Naz squeezes his eyes shut. There’s no way to say it that’s not horribly embarrassing, nothing good about what he wants to do, what he _needs_. “I’m gonna suck you off.” He says quietly, leaving room for rejection. It doesn’t come.

Mitch’s breath is ragged even before Naz sinks to his knees in front of him. He comes twice from Naz’s mouth on him, eyelashes wet as he shakes through the last orgasm, overstimulated and whimpering. (Naz can’t stop replaying the image of Mitch begging him to keep going after the first, even while his hips jerked instinctually away. He can barely get himself out of his pants before he comes untouched.)

Mitch gets five points that night -- two goals and three assists.

\--

It’s got to be the bond. There’s no way around it -- There’s nothing particularly skilled about the way Naz and Mitch come together, but Naz’s stamina seems to have evaporated, replaced by the strange ability to come five times a day.

It’s also the best sex he’s ever had, frankly, like Naz is feeling a whole other level of pleasure, and Naz can’t stop himself from getting a little attached to the feeling. It’s probably not, he thinks, just a normal hockey bond.

“What happens if we don’t?” Mitch asks, when Naz offers to blow him before their next game. The arousal is at a bearable level, this time, helped along by the fact that they’d gone home together after their last game, but it still sours Naz’s mood, which throws him for a loop -- he shouldn’t be _disappointed_ that he isn’t going to be having Mitch’s dick in his throat, and testing it is actually a good idea.

Their game is terrible, relative to how it has been. The Leafs win against Tampa, but barely. Auston’s line is the only one that scores, and Mitch has a pretty terrible giveaway that results in a goal. He comes back to Naz’s place frustrated and angry after being chewed out by Babs.

“Did you see them? They were practically _preening_ , all ‘better luck next time, Mitch’, like I’m _twelve_.” Mitch spits, pacing back and forth. Naz watches him from his bed, lying on his side, and stifles a sigh.

He knows Mitch has been jealous of the top line, has watched the media shift their marketing from three-headed-monster to dynamic duo, but it’s hard to have sympathy for one of the young guns who similarly knocked away his chance at being a franchise player. It’s not like the Leafs are going to trade Mitch.

“It’s fucking perfect. Of course, now that I’m finally scoring they still have to act like they’re better--” Mitch is ranting, some ridiculously misguided thing about better players _on the same team_ , and Naz interrupts him.

“So prove them wrong. Be better.” His tone is blunt, cutting, and Mitch stops in surprise. “If it fucking matters that much to you, that’s the way you get back at them. Play better.”

Before their next game, Mitch comes over and fucks him into the mattress three hours before puck drop. It’s by far the best sex Naz has ever had, as long as he doesn’t concentrate too hard on _why_ he feels so good and who he’s with.

Naz scores a hat trick, still sore in all the wrong places.

\--

Auston gets injured, and Mitch gets moved to the top line for a game.

He’s still electric -- they’d made sure of that, something the raw beard burn gracing Mitch’s thighs can attest to -- but it feels like there’s a hole next to Naz on the ice when he looks to pass. That’s not normal for a hockey bond, either. Mitch meets his gaze on the bench and nods, grim determination in his eyes. _I feel it, too._

In the end, the line changes don’t matter much. Apart, they're good, but together they're on _fire_. Mitch racks up an assist on both of Naz’s goals, and wracks up another four point night.

Naz doubts Babs will separate them again.

\--

They fall into a routine. There’s no way the team doesn’t realize something’s up, not with the way they come to practices and leave games together, with the way Naz ends up spending way less time with Leo. The whole team seems quietly perturbed, but as far as Naz is concerned it's hardly a question. There’s not enough time in the day to keep up with everyone _and_ Mitch -- he calls it ‘supercharging’, and maybe it's for the best that it's less telling about what they actually get up to.

“Auston’s worried about our bond.” Mitch announces, collapsing dramatically onto Naz’s couch. Naz raises an eyebrow, unimpressed.

“Yeah?”

“He told me that him and Willy don’t need to hang out all that often for it to stick, that we can’t force it if it’s not working.”

Naz snorts, and Mitch finally cracks a smile. “Not working, eh?”

“That’s what I said. Tell that to all our goals.” Mitch hums, nuzzling into Naz’s neck while he sneaks his hand down Naz’s waistband.

 

**Author's Note:**

> >Essentially, Mitch and Naz bond for hockey. The bond is not the type they intended, and they end up having sex. This is very Magic-Made-Them-Do-It. If you're okay with Sex Pollen, you'll probably be alright with this part.  
> >Avoiding contact is uncomfortable and has a negative effect on their emotional states, ft. Mitch lashing out at his friends. This is a result of the bond.  
> >However, sex makes their hockey better. They sleep together mostly because of this, but the sex is also really good. Mutually consensual.


End file.
